


i bet on losing dogs

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Cancer, Heavy Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Finale, Songfic, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21588349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Will you let me, baby, lose on losing dogs?House hopes for remission.
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64
Collections: Allbingo





	i bet on losing dogs

**Author's Note:**

> for allbingo's people-watching fest with the square "lost"
> 
> inspired heavily by _i bet on losing dogs_ by mitski, and the [fanvid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-x-n4YtMRF8) by my friend mango.
> 
> im sorry in advance.
> 
> enjoy!

House knows it's a losing battle from the start, but he can't help but fight against the odds nonetheless.

Spontaneous remission is rare. Spontaneous remission that is permanent, even more so. But when he looks at Wilson, he knows he's betting on terrible odds; but he can't help but be optimistic.

The first few months, there's few to no symptoms. Nothing happens to Wilson. He wants to believe that he was right, that something cheesy saved them— he wants to be optimistic for once in his life, rather than a realist. Wilson is the only person that could make him feel like that, wishing on impossible odds.

Maybe he  _ has _ gone into remission. Maybe it will all be fine, even if just for a little longer.

Four month mark of a road trip across the states. It's not hard, as long as they don't leave the country— everything is at Wilson's name, and no one knows House by face when they're on the other side of the states. Gregory House's death and so and the other. No one would ever put two and two together.

"Maybe you should check up a little," House says as he plays with Wilson's hair, almost an afterthought of a gesture.

Wilson grimaces. "I don't think that'd be good."

"Just to see, like, how much it's progressed."

He sounds anxious. He doesn't like it. He shouldn't be sounding anxious; he doesn't have anyone to hide for anyone anymore, but he still cycles through his million facades out of habit. Right now, he should be cool and aloof and even sarcastic to mask the fact the love of his life might be gone in two months' time. 

"I think I'd like the element of surprise," Wilson drawls out. And God, he's come to terms with this in a way he can't even picture. 

Perhaps he's scared because he knows what  _ has _ to come after Wilson's death. He's legally dead; all he can do is take his own life. There isn't a variety of choices to look at; if he turns up and goes 'surprise, I'm not dead!', well, he'll go to prison. With perhaps years added to it when you add fraud and avoiding his sentence. So, all he can do is stack up on Vicodin and go out with a whimper.

Still, he lives with the false hope of maybe it's spontaneous remission. It has to be spontaneous remission.

He imagines a world where he lives with Wilson happily ever after, perhaps forging a fake identity, moving to some European country, adopting a dog, something, something.

But the clock ticks near to the end, and that's when Wilson starts to decline.

They settle down on a cheap motel at Vegas.

"We should have a Vegas wedding," he mumbles, taking Wilson's hand in his.

Wilson laughs, and then coughs, burying his face on the pillow. He hasn't left the bed since yesterday. 

There's this sinking feeling of  _ oh, I lost the bet against fate. _

"We should," he says, smiling at him, leaning a hand up against his cheek.

They're both trying not to cry, and they're both determined not to lose this little contest of endurance.

"Gregory House, will you marry me?" Wilson's voice is raspy, eyes teary.

That's enough to make House break and lose again. He sobs, digging his fingers into Wilson's sweat-damp nightshirt, crying, begging for anything to make this all a nightmare. He can't lose Wilson.

"Yes," he says through tears, pulling himself up, pulling Wilson up gently for a kiss. "Of course."

There's no ceremony. But they're married. There's no legal binding. But they're married.

"I love you," Wilson tells him.

He's desperate. He's not ready to let go yet.

He doesn't say it back. "Promise me you'll wake up tomorrow."

Wilson bites his lip, hands him a look of pity he allows. Their time together is over, he can tell; impending doom in both of their faces "I promise," he says, knowing he cannot promise such a thing. Now, say it back."

They stare at each other all too intensely, until House looks down. "I love you too."

He curls himself up against Wilson, and he wakes up to a cold body against his own.

He doesn't try to get up, to get his bearings, his chest heavy. He looks over to his nightstand, grabs the pills in the counter. They're enough— they  _ should _ be enough. He'll will himself into death if he has to.

He swallows them dry, until he's done with them. He coughs a little and curls himself up against Wilson's cold body, his head swimming soon enough.

(Three hours later, the cleaning lady walks into two corpses close together, one of them with his hand over the other's own.)


End file.
